


Chrysalism

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Follows all of season one with a divergence on the end of 2X01-2, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But he still checked the inside of his arm every once and a while as the night wore on.</p><p>Just in case.</p><p>After all, now that he knew they were out there, it seemed wrong to miss anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own CBS’s “Zoo.” Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Inspired by a combination of two prompts: “Soulmate au where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/whatever the hell you want, it will show up on your soul mates skin as well” & “what if tattoos just randomly appeared on our skin at key points in our lives and we had to figure out what they meant for ourselves.” – Spans all of season one until 2x01/2x02 where it go au and Jamie is found safe with the leopard instead of her tramping off to the frozen north like a beautiful idiot. 
> 
> Warnings: soulmate au, soulmates, adult language, canon appropriate violence, mild sexual content, follows pre-season one – canon season one until the scene where the group had to leave without Jamie at the wood’s house.

He was in the middle of packing up his office for the semester when a lancing pain seared across his back. The stack of file folders in his hand fluttered to the ground in an off-white sheath of paper rain. The sensation caught him off guard. Giving him the opportunity to wrench himself sideways, trying to grab at it like that would help as the pain localized to his shoulder blade and throbbed like needle pin-pricks. Repetitive and spreading.

_What the-_

He pealed out of the room and down the hall, sneakers squeaking. Ignoring the janitor buffing the floors at the other end of the corridor as he barricaded himself in the staff bathroom. Unbuttoning his shirt and whipping it off. Shrugging out of the plain blue shirt underneath as he turned his back on the mirror. Twisting this way and that. Trying to catch a glimpse of whatever-

He spotted a flash of stark black and blue on the flat of his left shoulder blade. A half dozen unsavory comments rose up in the back of his mind as he shoved his glasses further up his nose. Frowning. Any thoughts of a runaway safety pin, an animal hair or even a random cactus spine - something easy to explain - disappeared like water on brand new blacktop when he focused on it.

_What the hell was that?!_

He lifted his right arm over his head, trying to pretend he could contort himself into the proper shape so he could see it clearly. Eventually he figured it out, angling himself just right as he watched a tattoo, a genie of all things, slowly take shape. Like somewhere out there it was happening in real time on someone else.

His breathing was loud as he leaned over the sink. Over-exaggerated and echoing in the small, sterile space. Staring at his reflection with eyes that weren't quite focused as the dull throb continued. Fever warm in the spots where the skin was already irritated and the artist had gone back to correct something.

It wasn't until his teeth started chattering that he realized the muscles in his arms were trembling. Adrenaline spiked and overall unsteady as he slowly forced himself to straighten. Using the handicapped railing as a brace as he eased himself down on the toilet lid like he'd aged forty years in the last thirteen seconds.

Because despite all the counter explanations and non-sequiturs his brain was already stockpiling, he knew what this was. He knew what it had to be. And honestly, considering he'd given up ever finding anything close to his actual soulmate a long, long time ago, all he could really process was the fact that it felt a whole lot like they were about half a decade too late.

Story of his life, really.

* * *

He forced himself to wait until he got home before he opened his laptop and keyed in a search. Feeling all sorts of stupid despite the humming drive to know more. It was like energy in his bones. Unable to help himself from scrolling through the results the search engine spit out. Wondering what his soulmate might have been thinking. Where they were. Why-  
 _  
_ _Because that was the thing, wasn't it?_

Soulmates were like a pull. Once you knew they were out there you couldn't fucking help yourself. It was like one of you was the compass and the other the needle and after you clicked, the rest was clockwork. Even for him. _Apparently._

According to everything he could bring up that looked halfway researched, genie tattoos stood for a variety of different meanings. Some of which actually contradicted each other. Indicating things like a giving nature, wishes, magic, hope, loss, spirituality, incarceration, second chances.

His eyebrows rose at the last one. Feeling a niggle about it. Or at least a stronger feeling than the rest. Whether that idea was right or wrong he couldn't tell, but it _was_ something. Which at this point felt better than the fat load of nothing he was officially scraping off the ground labeled: 'rock bottom.'

_Second chances._

_Huh._

* * *

He made dinner on autopilot. Thinking it through as the low throb of the tattoo settled more into a warm thrum of discomfort high on his shoulder blade. He knew he should have felt violated, angry, or at least confused. But instead he felt strangely- okay? It made absolutely no sense, but it was quiet and that was something the low grade headache he'd been nursing for what felt like forever seemed thankful for. Either way, he was too wrung out to question it.

But it wasn't until after he'd dragged himself out of the shower - padding naked into the depressing off-white of his bedroom - that he started entertaining an idea of his own.

He hesitated- pausing over the span of his inner arm before he snagged a pen from the side table. He tapped at the skin, making ink-tacky blots spread like freckles before he shrugged his shoulders and threw doubt out the window. Figuring the worst that could happen was he was wrong and he'd have to wash it off before wearing short sleeves as he gave in and scribbled across the pale of his arm.

 _"Please tell me getting that tattoo was a sound decision and not a drunken mistake you're now regretting. By the way, in case you were wondering- ow,"_ he wrote, cursing a bit as the nib of the pen forced him to go back and redo parts of the letters. Something about the oils of the skin not being conducive to-

The reply was almost immediate.

_"Oh shit..."_

He slipped right off the side of the bed. Landing square on his ass on the bedroom carpet as he looked down at his arm uncomprehendingly. The words he'd written were already fading. Replaced by two words that were most definitely _not_ his. Even the style of the penmanship and the hurried way they'd been written was different. Shock-shattered but oddly giddy, before being joined by two more.

 _"It's you,"_ whoever it was wrote.

So simple and honest that the words even sounded breathy in his head.

The 'my soul mate' part was silent.

_Obviously._

And maybe slightly disbelieving.

 _"Yep,"_ he answered. Feeling like an absolutely moron as his inability to say anything more flushed heat across his cheeks. Making him duck his chin into his chest a bit like somehow whoever it was would know. And maybe they could. He'd never heard of discovering your soulmate quite like this so he supposed the bar was open when it came the possibilities. Either way, he figured it was pretty fucking sad if he'd waited his entire life to find this person and all he could muster up was 'yep.'

_"I'm so so sorry, I had no idea."_

_"About what?"_ he returned, spine uneven against the side of the couch as he shuffled backwards, trying to get into a good position to-

 _"Both actually. That I even had a soulmate and that this could be- uh- shared?"_  
 _  
_ _"That makes two of us,"_ he replied, clambering to his feet and falling back against his unmade bed instead as the swath of skin on his arm remained bare.

He watched it for a long time.

Not really expecting a reply, but mostly just thinking about it.

Struggling with the realization that the absence of words - both physically and mentally – only smeared a highlighter down the proverbial page of how silent his life had gotten lately. How empty. He looked around at the blank walls. At the odd cardboard box still hanging around from his move and the sterile, second-hand nicks in the paint that'd been there when he'd moved in. The same ones the building manager had laughed at him for asking them to be fixed before he committed. Standing there with her hands on her hips in the ratty, outdated lobby, smelling like stale nicotine and cheap detergent. Going on about the line she had out the door for a 'place like this' and that if he thought he was too good for her 'establishment' he should do them both a favor and stop wasting her time.

It was the fourteenth place he'd been to in the last two months that'd even called him back.

So sue him, but he'd caved.

_And honestly? He hated every inch of it._

_Strange that he'd only really noticed it now._

His mouth twisted, thumb and forefinger brushing idly over the inner of his wrist. Tracing the words that had already faded as something new and almost anticipatory burbled under the surface. Something that made him kick himself upright and snag a pair of boxers from the towering heap of clothes that forever lived in his laundry basket. Deciding there was no time like the present if he wanted to hit up the hardware store before it closed. Get some spackle and some sort of paint that wasn't beige or white on these walls.

 _You know, adult stuff._ _  
_  
The semester was officially over and while that didn't exactly mean he had a premium on spare time, it _did_ mean that he had less in the way of excuses than he had yesterday.

But he still checked the inside of his arm every once and a while as the night wore on.

Just in case.

After all, now that he knew they were out there, it seemed wrong to miss anything.


	2. Chapter 2

He was mainlining coffee and googling the best way to get paint off his shoes when he caught the flash of words out of the corner of his eye.

_"Did the tattoo fade?"_

He didn't know if it was the light of the morning or just his changed perspective, but he swore he could see a personality in the lilt and style of it. Bubbly and quick. Caring more about what was said rather than how it sounded. Something that was both intriguing and relatable considering that was about eighty-nine percent of his problem when it came to most social situations.

 _"Nope,"_ he answered, chewing on the lid as he contemplated buying better pens. Not having to look as the low throb kept up like a distant itch on the back of his shoulder. Just how he figured a tattoo starting to heal probably felt like, only second-hand and muted. _"Still there."_

 _"Damn. Sorry about that."_ _  
_  
 _"So you said, multiple times,"_ he scribbled flatly. Adjusting the screen of his laptop to see through the early light streaming through the blinds. Highlighting the dust motes as they swirled around lazily. Adding a strange, domestic layer to the chemical tang of the new paint smell.

 _"Alright fair enough. Let's agree not to talk about it for now. Besides- there's something I want to talk to you about."_ _  
_  
His eyebrows skipped up again like the start of a habit. Deciding to wait them out as he took another sip from his mug. Clicking idly through his inbox before his eyes started tracking the actual _paragraph_ of text whoever they were was currently banging out.

 _"I did some research. Apparently what we have is rare. Like, super rare. I couldn't find anything that matched in the Global Soulmate Network or even the North American Registry. It isn't even on the list of lesser known indicators. Most soulmates that include shared tattoos end at there. That's it. Not this whole writing thing. How did you know to try writing to me, anyway?_ "

That one stopped him cold.

Because honestly, he had no freaking idea.

He'd just- done it.

He tapped the pen against the desk in a brutal rhythm. Trying to remember how he'd jumped from one thing to the next the night before. More frustrated than anything when he came up empty. Figures.

" _As much as I hate to say it, I had a feeling. Though, I'm not sure what that's worth. Soulmates aren't exactly scientifically probable – or even predictable. Especially when it comes to how the mutation actually manifests."_

The pen lid rolled off the table to _cl-clicka-click_ across the shitty kitchen linoleum. By the time he'd gotten it back they'd already answered. Making him snort out a laugh when their teasing hit closer to the mark than they could have realized.

" _Alright professor, I can see you bristling from here. So, you had a feeling, fair enough. Works for me. Doesn't change the fact that whatever this is, it's a fusion of a couple different things. And as far as I can tell, we're the only ones like this."_

 _"Lucky us,"_ he wrote sulkily, letting the pen roll it's way to freedom as he stretched. Watching the blue-tinted ink fade, then disappear completely. Getting sidetracked as he tried to come up with some sort of explanation that wasn't "the unknowable magic of soulmates" crap society pedaled these days rather than to actually try and figure out the science behind it.

 _"You don't think so?"_ they replied, this time with something scratched out and illegible at the beginning. Like a grammar mistake or a half-formed shape.

He sighed. Very in touch with his bitterness as he slouched out of his chair and threw open the kitchen window. Leaning against the sill and breathing in the relative fresh air before he clunked his glasses against the pane and scribbled a reply.

" _Things are just never easy, are they?"_

For the first time he let himself imagine the curve of a mouth and a small smile.

" _Hate to be the one to break it to you, buddy. But I'm told that's a part of life. At least now we are officially ahead of the grade curve."_

Touche.

* * *

" _I think we have a problem. I tried to write down my name, my number. Basically anything that could identify me. Hell, even the city I live in and nothing happened. Everything disappeared as soon as I wrote it. I got absolutely nowhere with any of it."_

He swallowed his mouthful of pasta with difficulty. Glancing around the restaurant briefly. Making sure no one was close enough to see him writing on himself like a five year old before he jotted down a quick reply. Chiding, but with a baseline of amusement that felt like early spring.

_"You know it never works like that, right?"_

In his mind's eye, thin, freckle-flecked shoulders shrugged.

" _Hey, it was worth a shot."_

Curiosity got the better of him. He waited until the words faded before he tried writing his name. He got halfway through the first part before the ink disappeared. Like it was getting sucked back into the nib, into his bloodstream or maybe just dissipating completely.

Huh.

" _You just tried it, didn't you?"_

His lips quirked, waiting until the waitress had come and gone with his drink refill before answering.

" _You caught me."_

He could almost feel their frustration when they answered a couple minutes later.

" _That's something I've never got about soulmates. Why all the cloak and dagger? Why not allow us to find each other right now? Why do we have to wait? What is so important about 'letting it happen' or whatever. Like in the movies? I mean, we're here, now, aren't we? Doesn't that mean we're ready?"_

He looked around him, mildly curious as his soulmate's irritated barrage of questions bobbed quietly in the air-conditioned swell above his head. He didn't blame them, really. He couldn't. Because that was the tag line, wasn't it? What all the soulmate agencies repeated like it was written in some manual somewhere.

_Everything happens when it happens for a reason._

In his opinion it was the biggest crock of shit this side of the nearest sewage treatment facility. He'd read studies, hell- even _known_ people who'd died before they could even met their soulmate. People who'd been born with names on their wrists since birth only to find out that their soulmate died from old age fifty years before they'd learned to walk. People with compasses on the inner of their wrists, pointing them in the right direction, only to leak red unexpectedly just before the finale.

_What was the point if you were going to lose them before you found them?_

_What was the point if you never met because you couldn't find each other in time?_

_What was the point of soulmates if you didn't have a fighting chance?_

He shredded the edges of his napkin with unhappy fingers. He'd lived his entire life without knowing this person was out there, and now that he knew, his chest was tight with an entirely new type of anxiety. Grudging and undecided as his feelings were on the subject, he couldn't deny that it felt a whole lot like things were changing.

" _How are we ever going to meet if we can't tell each other where we are- who we are_?" they continued, leaking emotion as he took off his glasses and rubbed tired eyes. _"You could be on the other side of the world for all I know."_

They had a point there.

A hell of a point, actually.

He thought it over for a long time. For once figuring it wasn't a case of him never really knowing the right thing to say as the lack of an honest response kept him quiet. Stewing in it, just like they were, as he gestured for the waitress to come over with the check. Waiting his turn for the debt machine before grabbing his jacket and walking out into the street.

An apology seemed stupid. Not to mention insincere since-

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts like old ghosts.

He couldn't go back down that road.

Nostalgia was a dirty liar that aimed to wound rather than comfort.

At least in his experience.

That ship had sailed and he was determined that Clem would be better for it in the long run.

He'd made his choice.

Now he had to live with it.

The city still murky-humid from the heat of the day. Enough to make him feel like he hadn't showered in days rather than a few hours as he ignored the crosswalk half a block away and stepped off the curb. Waiting until it was safe before ambling across the blacktop towards his truck.

It wasn't until he was inside, driver's side door pinging grumpily, that he noticed they'd written again. This time the ink was black and thin, spotty like strong emotion or just the little ball on the end acting up. Saturated in the oils from their skin. Just like what'd happened to him half a dozen times since yesterday.

" _You still there?"_

" _I'm always here,"_ he answered honestly, writing unsteadily in the half-dark. Not getting the connotation until they answered like a soft smile.

" _Yeah, you are… You've always been haven't you?"_


	3. Chapter 3

Things continued along the same vein.

Offhand questions.

Observations.

Full on conversations.

Touching base.

Whatever you wanted to call it, they were doing it.

" _Do you like coffee?"_

" _Yes."_

" _How do you take it?"_

" _Did you read this bestseller?"_

" _No?"_

" _Then what about this classic?"_

" _Did you see the news?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _What's your opinion on it?"_

" _Why?"_

" _Well, here is my counter argument_."

It was less empty in his head these days. But other than that, life continued on, more or less normal. Sure there were more long sleeved shirts in his closet these days. More pens lost and found - his apartment, labs, office and classroom - that were designed to write on the skin rather than paper. Something which he'd take to grave considering the only set of ten he could find was in the foreplay section of an online sex store.

Thank god for discrete packaging. Especially in a building with way too many retired, nosy strata people that apparently had nothing better to do than stake out the mailboxes in the lobby and make small talk in the elevator as a guise for trying to read the labels on his mail.

And people had the gall to tell him that _he_ didn't have a life.

Over the next few weeks they talked on and off. She – because she _was_ a she - became a constant. A good thing. A dependable thing. And eventually he was forced to come to grips with the fact that he was starting to look forward to their conversations as the weeks turned into months and so on.

He didn't know exactly how it happened, but she drew him in. She was quick witted, interesting, smart and took even less of his bullshit than other people. She was warm, more than anything else. Everything about her ran hot. There was passion behind the things she talked about and weight behind the things she didn't. Like matching lead weights to the soul, she checked his balance and still managed to come across like a smile.

He hated to put a label on it, but if ever a person could become irreplaceable, she was it.

Which should have been his first clue everything was going to go to shit, really.

* * *

 

She taught him about himself as the months passed. Discovering through her that there was a sensitive inner to the arm. A spot where the sensation of just your fingers brushing across it felt a whole lot like an overdose. Like living with the volume stuck on high. Loud and tingling. Somewhere between too much and not enough. Like the build up to a climax where your nervous system was confused between backing down and going all the way because the feeling was _that_ intense.

Which honestly seemed a whole lot like a metaphor when he thought about it.

* * *

 

" _Do you think you know me?"_ she asked one day, letters slanted like she was distracted or maybe just on the move. Imagining her rocking back and forth on a subway or city bus as he made liberal use of his red pen across the latest batch of awful essays.

" _I feel like I would know, you know? Or I should know- but what if I don't?"_

" _If you knew me in person, believe me, you'd be glad you hadn't put two and two together"_ he wrote back, mostly serious despite the small smile that seemed to take up residence whenever she was involved. A bad and dangerous little habit he hadn't found it in him to break quite yet. _"I'm kind of an asshole."_

" _Someday you're going to say that and I'm going to believe it,"_ she returned crossly, rehashing an old reply to his equally old self-disparaging remarks _. "You know you can't lie to me right?"_

" _Hell if I can't,"_ he scribbled back, a muscle in his cheek ticking when he realized he'd used the wrong pen on his student's essay. _"It all comes down to if you believe me or not."_

" _Alright- alright. Truce,"_ she returned, flowering the pause with an idle doodle that spanned from the inner of his elbow to the gape of his wrist. Something that almost looked like a vine with leaves and thorns if he tilted his head just right. _"You're in a mood. What's up?"_

" _Currently? Weeping for our planets future and the fate of mankind as we know it,"_ he answered. The line of words going uneven near the end as he got further into the mangled mess of an introductory paragraph he was supposed to be marking.

His imagination supplied her smile again. Lower lip caught between her teeth – half a laugh, half in tease – bare and slightly chapped. Real and honest, just like the rest of her.

" _Ouch, marking again huh?"_

He leaned back in his chair, stretching until his knees knocked across the underside of the table. Lacing his hands together and resting them behind his head for a fraction of a beat until the little fluttering sensation – like being unexplainable ticklish – alerted him that she'd written again.

" _What if-"_

He answered her before the rest of the words had a chance to form.

Not actually sure about any of it.

But wanting to be.

_For her._

" _We'll figure it out when we get there, alright? We're already ahead of the grade curve, remember?"_

* * *

 

_"Ever wonder what kind of soul mates we are?"_

He was partway through a lecture when he caught a glimpse of black ink spreading across his forearm. His sleeves were rolled up and for a fraction of a beat, he lost his place. Eyes skittering across the arena of seats where his students were taking notes. Dicking around on their laptops – phones. Some starting to stir when the natural pause grew damning.

_Shit._

He forced himself to ignore the prickling feeling and carry on with the lecture. Crossing over to his laptop with the cover of checking something. Shaking out his sleeves until they covered what was needed before delving back in with a question period. Forcing their attention where he wanted it and nowhere else.

It was only when the last student hurried out that he grabbed his pen and answered.

_"What do you mean?"_

Her answer was immediate. Like she'd been waiting.

_"Oh come on, you know. There are romantic soulmates. Platonic ones. Ones that end up being more like an addition to your family, like a brother or a sister."_

" _You've been watching too many movies,"_ he replied, rolling his eyes. Shutting down his laptop and stuffing his notes in his bag.

" _You know what I think?"_ she smacked back, edging between coy and teasing as he shut the door and wandered down the hall towards the elevators. _"I think I know exactly what kind of soulmates we are."_

Something stuttered in his chest.

Thickening his throat with something almost pleasant before he swallowed it down.

Part of him still stubbornly wondering why she'd even bother.

Why she wanted to even think about-

" _You'll probably be disappointed,"_ he warned, fighting the mask of a teasing smirk that tried to rise in response as he mashed the button down to the parking garage. Frowning past what felt like just another lie. Another half-truth. Another smoke screen protecting the real thing. Shielding all the damaged parts as he threw himself into his truck and started the engine.

He took the pause as the mercy kill it was as he drove home. Simmering on it until he slumped down the hall and stopped dead. Frowning at the suit standing grimly beside the flaking bronze numbers of his apartment door. He shook the man's hand, weary. Something deep in the pit of his belly sinking when he handed him an orange envelope. Seemingly unaffected when he crinkled the edges in his fist as the man excused himself back towards the elevator.

It was an hour later when the reply finally came. Tired and soft in the slant like she was lying down, half asleep.

" _Why? Have three legs and warts?"_

He looked down at the legal papers strewn across his kitchen table. Fighting the urge to throw something or maybe just scream as he forced himself to sign every god damned line. Giving his daughter something she deserved. A family. Rather than the broken down mockery of two parents trying, but ultimately failing to do their best.

" _Something like that,"_ he wrote back, finding an odd sort of solace amidst the self-hatred that was currently cycling through him like unlit napalm. Knowing that in spite of everything she was still out there. _Still his._

Everyone had baggage, it was true.

But honestly, lately, it felt a whole lot like his came with a _moving truck_.


	4. Chapter 4

" _You've been quiet,"_ she observed one afternoon. Distracting him from his very important - albeit silent discussion - with the empty booth across from him at the diner. Not thinking of anything in particular as the peeling red vinyl stood out like a particularly ugly metaphor to his life.

" _Got a lot on my mind,"_ he wrote back, wincing at the weakness of the reply but grateful when she didn't immediately call him on it like she usually did.

The coffee left in his cup was luke-warm and bitter when he raised it to his lips. Grimacing in distaste as he set it down again. Creating a matching coffee-ring stain on the papers in front of him. Ideas for his next paper – fluff pieces mostly – enough to keep the Dean of his department happy while he focused on his own research.

" _Like what? You can tell me you know, I'm pretty sure that's what I'm here for."_

He expelled a breath sharply through his nose. Forgetting to signal for the check for the third time as the waitress bustled passed. High heels _thowack-thowack-thowacking_ across the cheap linoleum.

There were a hundred different things he could have said.

But the funny thing was, he ended up telling her the truth.

" _Sometimes I don't know how to connect. So I disconnect,"_ he answered honestly. Not sure if it was a drawback or a bonus that he didn't have to look her in the face afterwards. Wondering off-handedly where she was and what she was doing right this very moment as she watched his words appear, and slowly fade, from her skin.

" _Weirdly enough, I think I know the answer for this one,"_ she eventually replied. Letters slow and careful like she was taking her time. Like she cared. _Like she knew._

The waitress blew past with the check he hadn't asked for. And he decided to take it as his cue to leave as he gathered his papers and tossed a couple bills on the table. Grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder as he squinted into the afternoon sun.

The next time he looked, her answer was there – slow but determined – like leaves skittering to ground on the onset of fall.

" _Sometimes you end up giving the right people – the right person - the wrong pieces of you, you know?"_

* * *

It wasn't until later – much later – when he was staring at his ceiling. Halfway between being awake and asleep that he finally pulled his head far enough out of his ass to wonder how she'd known exactly what to say. Suddenly far too awake as the idea that he wasn't the only one who was a little wounded broke new ground in his head space.

_Huh._

Funny how he liked the thought of it less when she was involved.

She didn't deserve that.

He didn't even have to ask to know that.

Then again, maybe he shouldn't have been so surprised.

That was what having a soulmate meant, wasn't it?

They were supposed to be the one person you _could_ connect with.

It was just the details that made things a bit crappier than they should've been.

At least in his opinion.

* * *

He was wrist-deep in a zebra carcass when he caught a flash of color spreading across his arm.

_Ugh, not that stupid purple pen again._

" _Quick, what's a good word for being petty, or fighting over things that don't really matter – but in a professional way?"_ she asked.

" _I'm not your thesaurus,"_ he returned blandly, tapping his finger on the autopsy table as he waited for her response. After all there was no use in putting on a fresh pair of gloves if she was just going to make him take them off again.

" _Stop being an asshole for one minute and humor me? Please? I've been up since three am trying to finish this stupid piece of crap."_

His mouth twitched, head ducking into his chin like it was second nature to hide the smile.

" _What are you going for? Polished or pretentious?"_ he asked, watching red leak down from the side of the incision. Staining the brilliant white and black hide with a thin, encroaching tide of crimson. Inching down towards the metal drain in the center as that same funny little sensation tingled across the inside of his arm.

" _Both?"_ she answered, both a question and a statement in a way that was so like her he was in danger of smiling again.

" _Pettifoggery,"_ he scribbled back. He had fond memories of that word. Having once verbally eviscerated a particularly annoying, short-sighted department head using it - amongst a few others.

" _Oooh…I like that. Perfect!"_ she returned, the taste of her relief almost tangible as he snagged a pair of fresh gloves and prepared to pick up where he'd left off.

" _I'm going back to work now,"_ he warned, more to stave off any other sleep deprived chatter than anything else as he looked back down at the carcass. Wondering why anyone would need the word "pettifoggery" for anything – no less use it successfully in a sentence.

He still had no idea what she did for a living. Every time she tried to tell him, no matter how creatively, his skin remained blank. Same as when he tried. She'd theorized more than once that it must mean something. That perhaps their jobs were going to be the thing that brought them together someday. Privately, he wasn't unconvinced it wasn't the universe finding a brand new way to screw with him.

" _You're a life saver, thanks! Have a good one!"_

He snorted, looking down at the split open carcass and the mysteries it was still clinging to with a deeply-lined frown. Because frankly, he had a young, fully grown male zebra with no apparent health issues and absolutely nothing in the way of answers.

_Crap._

* * *

He was politely pretending not to hear his one night stand sneak out of his hotel room - a red head from the same conference he was at, who hadn't cared how he used his mouth unless it was firmly engaged at all times, preferably between her legs - when a flood of green ink hazed across the inner of his arm.

_"Hey, you awake?"_

He waited until the door softly clicked before levering himself up out of the sheets and stretching for the pen in the breast pocket of his crumpled suit jacket.

"Yeah," he wrote back, awkward and slanted as he penned it above his head in the nest of pillows. Glasses hiding somewhere he hadn't bothered to discover yet.  
 _  
"What are you thinking about?"_

It occurred to him as he glanced at the clock, all six fucking fifteen am of it, that somewhere she was probably doing the same thing. Barely awake, soft, eyes still blurry with sleep. It was a nice image. Maybe even comforting. But mostly it just highlighted her absence. What neither of them had yet. Each other.

 _"That you're not a red head,"_ he said honestly, deliberately lacking a filter because there was a part of him that still couldn't help testing her. Trying to chip away at the fairy-tale facade for the truth. Whatever that was. Part of him still expecting that someday all this was going to crumble. That she was too good to be true and that true to form - sooner or later - he'd do something, say something to drive her away. Just like he did with everyone else. Everyone important. Everyone who was worth it.

Connie, the red head - an expert in the field of Forensic Podiatry, or so she'd said - had been a knock out. Intelligent, argumentative, driven and with looks and style to match. But when it was all over and she was breathing deep and slow into the crook of his chest, he'd felt a whole lot like he'd eaten a meal but still wasn't full.

She'd been lovely, but not right.

If that made any sense.

As much as he felt like most of the soulmate crap was out to lunch, meaning even scientific studies were playing more into the romantic exoticism of it than anything, he'd read one thing recently that'd resonated. Something that'd felt familiar, applicable and possible, without all that other bullshit attached.

The article talked about how meeting your soul mate was a lot like walking into a familiar house. A place where you recognized the pictures on the wall, the furniture, the way the cupboards were organized, _everything_. It was a place you already knew without having to be there. A place where you automatically felt at home.

He weathered the pause that stretched through the in-between. Calm but strangely nervous as she processed the meaning. Checking his phone as he deleted half a dozen emails he didn't need any more before she finally replied.

_"Yeah, I've had a few of those since- well, since we started talking."_

He frowned, eyebrows in danger of going places as he tried and failed to figure out how he felt about that. And most importantly, if he had any right to have feelings on the subject at all – this time for more than a few reasons. One of them being the woman probably taking the elevator down to the lobby, still trying to sort out her bra straps.

Then-

_"I was thinking about you too."_

Oh.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Hey."_

_"Hey, back,"_ he answered, rescuing his pen from underneath a stack of notes. Her interruption coming across like a breath of fresh air as he stretched. Looking up at the ceiling of his office and yawning exaggeratedly. Feeling his ears pop as he nudged his glasses back up his nose with a sigh. Blinking over at the clock on his laptop as he realized it was nearly seven.

Shit, no wonder he was hungry.

_"Do you ever feel like sometimes you just can't win?"_

_"All the time,"_ he answered, watching the ink soak back into his skin before tacking on the rest without shame. Wondering where this was all going in a lazy, disconnected sort of way before leaning back in his chair again. _"But then again, I'm usually responsible for creating most of my problems. I'm kind of an acquired taste."_

It was probably the first time he'd admitted anything like that out loud, he realized. Finishing his stretch as the words faded and he looked down at his research notes with a sigh.

It felt weird.

Cathartic, but weird.

So, of course, sticking with the same theme- her response was also very her.  
 _  
"Soulmates are weird,"_ she blurted, or at least that was what it looked like. Nearly giving him whiplash at the abrupt switch. Realizing she sounded wired and angry as he blinked down at his arm. Easing his thumb and index finger across the spotty looking finish as new words popped up almost as fast as the others faded.  
 __  
"You just have to take everything on faith that someday we're going to meet and everything is going to work out the way it should. I mean, what about free choice? Why don't people just listen?! What about- ugh! Why does everything have to be so hard?! I mean look at this- Our situation... We could do everything right and still not get anywhere because everything is out of our control. Fuck. It isn't fair!"

He blinked again. Seeing trembling fingers and red-rimmed eyes like crying in his mind's eye. Blanking on how to even start when she beat him there - again.

_"Have you ever known something - like, known it was true but can't prove it? You know it. No question. But you can't back it up and every time you try you hit a wall?"_

His eyebrow arched up, fighting an unfamiliar itch under his skin as her unhappiness settled over him like a fog. Tangible and colored-coded in strained blacks and dark coal greys. Nothing like her usual colors. Like the way she usually felt in his mind. Something was off. Wrong.

 _"Why do I get the feeling this isn't really about soulmates?"_ he side-stepped, thinking about his reply for longer than he probably should have considering what ended up coming out.  
Jumping a bit when a text dinged on his phone. He glanced down and swiped the screen. Hackles going up fractionally when the coordinator for the L.A Zoo popped up on his top bar.

He squinted at the first few words – frowning - before deciding to ignore it.

Work could wait.

 _"No, it probably isn't,"_ she admitted. " _But I definitely got fired today and I've had an entire bottle of wine so maybe you should just give me this one, okay?"_

 _"Fair enough,"_ he wrote, ignoring the flash of the unopened text message. _"If there's one thing I'm good at its bitching about life in general rather than facing my problems. So go ahead, hit me with your best shot. I can take it. Keep in mind that unless you've murdered someone I can guarantee I've probably done worse. Definitely done worse. If this was a competition I would absolutely be winning right now. I mean- All this is strictly confidential right? That's how it works? Come to think of it, I don't think I ever read the fine print on the whole soulmate thing, honestly."_

He got a weak laugh out of it from her side so he decided to chalk it up as a victory. Wanting more than anything to hear that laugh in person as her writing gradually smoothed down from the rough, angry lines and back into something softer before that bottle of wine and the day from hell finally caught up with her and she said goodnight.

* * *

He was technically already late when he threw himself into the shower the next morning. Still not completely awake as he cranked the water to just below scalding. Feeling a whole lot like a shirt that'd been through the wash too many times as he ducked under the spray and tipped his head back.

For a long moment he just stood there.

Letting the water stream off him.

Warm-wet beading down his face from the dark spikes of his hair.

Thinking about everything he had to do before he could call it a day as he leaned into it.

He was expected at the zoo at nine. And considering the traffic he'd need to fight- there was precisely... _no fucking way_ he was going to make it on time. _Ugh._ He had not one but _two_ lion autopsies to get through all while the zoo was in the middle of some sort of PR nightmare. Which tends to happen when someone screws the pooch and said lions get loose and turn the downtown strip into a smorgasbord. He wasn't sure what kind of unlucky you had to be to be one of the few people in the world to die of a lion attack outside of Africa. But personally, he was kind of smug about not having sunk that low yet.

Still, late or not, when he brushed a soapy hand absentmindedly down the inner of his arm, all the reasons why that was a bad thing wisped away on him. Sending warm shivers rippling. Like when she was writing to him, only a thousand times more intense.

He lingered on the pale of it. Right where her words always appeared. Guilt and need the same animal roaring high in his chest as he imagined her there with him. There was no face. No name. But he knew her. He knew the words she liked and the ones she didn't. He knew she wrote with a right-hand slant. He knew she went to bed late and woke up way too early. He knew her moods, her personality. He knew-

The muscles in his belly twitched as he thumbed the flare of his crown. Water and soap hushing together to give the moment an embarrassingly fission of slickness as he watched his hand move. Firming over his cock again and again as he leaned back against the tiles. Working himself over slowly as a dome of pearl-white tried it's best to well up at the tip. Getting washed away by the spray as his mind conjured a dozen different images.

They were flashes, mostly.

_Impressions._

But for a strange, unearthly moment, it didn't matter.

Because she was there, in front of him.

A knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips before her hands joined his.

_Helping._

Adding a dimension to the glide as his cock jumped in his fist.

The heat from the spray stroked the inside of his lungs as his head fell back. Nails digging into the filmy grout with a grunt when his hand firmed around his cock. Squeezing teasingly and drawing it out like he had all the time in the world to be-

_Oh-_

He was only half aware that his teeth were bared – gritting like a snarl. Too stuck on the way she was moving forward in his mind's eye. Flushing her hips against his as she uncurled his fingers from around his length and moved them to her hips. Letting his nails find purchase in the soft of her ass as she rubbed herself against him. Angling her pelvis so that he was sliding between her thighs. Able to feel the heat of her radiating outwards as gravity had him up against the tiles. Ducking his head to meet her when she stretched up on her toes. Meeting her kiss head on- like they'd been right here, right now, a thousand times before.

He was almost there.

_Almost-_

Almost was a big word for him.

It bellied hope.

It promised things.

Dangerous things.

Maybe even good things.

And she was to blame.

She was-

His hips hitched, tasting the tint of red when he chewed on the inside of his cheek, muffling the shattered sound that still managed to get the best of him as the shower slowly whisked away the evidence. Leaving him there on wobbly legs as the afterimage of her smile – the same one he'd never seen - haunted the inside of his eyelids.

_God, he was so fucked it was unbelievable._

* * *

He was drying himself off when his cellphone rang. The generic ringtone warping oddly across the wet tiles as he rolled his eyes and kicked the towel away. Shouldering his way through the door - geriatric and creaking - to fish it off the dresser. Dripping steadily across the carpet as he struggled to get the screen to swipe with wet fingers.

"Mitch Morgan," he answered, distracted as he tried to find the clean pair of socks he swore he'd left on the bed before his shower.

_He so did not have time for-_

"Hello, Doctor Morgan? This is Jamie Campbell from the L.A telegraph. I was wondering if you would consent to an interview regarding the incident at the zoo earlier this week?"


	6. Chapter 6

_"I met someone that reminded me of you today."_

The words appeared on his arm, just like they always did. Making his lips quirk upwards as he stuffed a mouthful of lemon chicken into his mouth and traded his chopsticks for a pen.

 _"Sure it wasn't me?"_ he wrote back, flipping through the channels before giving up and grabbing his tablet. Picturing a laugh between the hesitation on her end before the emotion broke and reshaped itself into something lighter - better.

 _"Pretty sure,"_ she answered, words slanting like the beginning churl of a giggle before deadpanning the rest. _"He at least tried to be charming."_

 _"Touche,"_ he snarked, with absolutely zero in the way of heat. Enjoying the moment for what it was as he switched to the Thai shrimp and scrolled through the news.

He frowned. Watching hook-phrases like: "animal attack" and "strange behavior" run across the bottom of a muted news cast. At first he didn't think much of it, figuring it was another broadcast about the lion attack at the zoo. But on second look it wasn't about that at all. Something about a string of attacks in Africa and-

Coincidence.

That was all it was.

It was Africa after all.

If anywhere was going to have lion attacks on any given day it was going to be there.

Right?

 _"Well, there's an easy way to tell,"_ he ventured after a moment. Deciding to put the news out of his mind completely as he tossed his tablet off to the side. Watching it bounce across the couch cushions before getting caught in the dip.

 _"And what's that?"_ she asked. Knowing without having to think too hard that she was rolling her eyes like she already knew what he was thinking.

_"Just ask them to take off their shirt so you can see if you have the same tattoo of questionable quality on their shoulder. It shouldn't be too hard. Honestly, a tattoo is basically a forever thing- you'd think you would have shelled out a bit more for it, at least for my sake."_

Her amusement danced across his skin.

 _"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that wouldn't go over well. I met them for work - which I'm still fired from by the way - and I don't think they're a hundred percent convinced about me to begin with. So asking them to strip might be grounds for assault. Thanks but no thanks. I need this person to believe me, not slap me with a restraining order."_ __  
  
He startled himself when he laughed out loud. Trying not to think too hard on how the echoes seemed to spread rather than die out. Fielding that same warm pleasure that threatened to well up in the pit of his belly as a stream of blue ink spread across his arm like the best kind of run on sentence.

* * *

He wasn't going to lie. There was something about her - about Jamie Campbell - that... _pinged_. He didn't know if that was the right word. But that was what it felt like. It wasn't even a significant ping either, more of like a weak magnetic pull. Edging herself boldly into the corner of his brain he'd marked 'better left undisturbed' and started dusting herself off a place to sit. Either way, it was enough of a ping that what she said about the missing cats in Brentwood, off-hand as it was, got him thinking.

Because honestly, the more he thought about it, the more he was forced to admit that cats didn't really pull mass disappearances unless there was a predator nearby. And if we were talking _dozens_ of cats going missing in a suburban neighborhood, well- that probably meant bad news for everybody.

So naturally, before he knew it, he was on a plane to New Orleans to talk to a senator he'd never even heard of because Jamie was dead set on proving that the hypergama frequencies they'd found in the lion cub was a direct result of Reiden Global and their chemical-laced... _everything_.

It was a theory he wasn't completely sold on, by the way. And for good reason. He was far enough away from it to see that it was half-cooked and sloppy, despite what he'd been able to add so far. But Jamie had already proved herself as a force to be reckoned with and frankly, part of him was enjoying the ride.

She was reckless, driven, passionate and absolutely _annoying_. He'd nearly choked on the last bit of his toast when she'd cornered at the diner. She was also apparently broke and fired as he later found out when she tried to rent them a car from the airport after they touched down. The fun apparently never stopped with this one. Worse, she seemed determined to keep him from wriggling free.

_Oh joy._

Still, it wasn't until Agent Alves - in the very nice suit that knew things he shouldn't - sidled in beside him at the random Christmas bar after Jamie went to use the phone that he realized two things in quick succession. First, that things were escalating quickly and secondly, that Jamie, a woman who'd made it her personal mission to make Reiden Global went down for what it'd done to her mother might actually be right after all.

* * *

His life had changed a lot in the last few weeks. But despite some well-earned grumbling and all the awkwardness that came from being in close quarters with a bunch of strangers for an extended period of time, oddly enough he wouldn't have had it any other way.

He did a lot of listening on the plane that took them to their super-secret 'let's save the world location' - which happened to be a nice, but otherwise nondescript building in central Paris with more board rooms than he'd ever seen in his life – which was saying something considering he was still a regular on the conference circuit. Listening to what Jamie said. Listening to what she didn't. Listening to the dead silence of the two suits in the row behind them. The ones that were paying absolutely no attention to the magazines they were fisting and way too much attention to Jamie's laptop screen through the gap in the seats.

But if he was being honest, he mostly listened to Jamie.

It was kind of hard not to, after all.

Still, he had his limits. Aberrant behavior was starting to become his least favorite phrase. Especially when he found himself shipped off to Mississippi all of places. Paired with Abraham to hunt down a wolf and get samples of brain tissue not a stone's throw from Biloxi Penitentiary, where said wolves mascaraed an entire prison. He'd seen the footage and he still didn't know how that'd happened. Wolves operated within a pack structure but he'd never seen that kind of seamless communication, it'd seemed almost-

_Ugh._

It wasn't until he'd finally got into his room for the night, privately exulting at being the odd one of five who'd scored his own room while the others shared, that he had a moment to himself.

He wasn't a hundred percent sure due to time zones and stuff, but he was pretty sure he'd missed a night of sleep somewhere between the first plane and the forth. Enough that his social batteries were drained so far past low they might never recover and that he was pretty sure the tendons under his skin were actually buzzing.

_Christ, he needed to get some sleep._

He grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and cracked it open. Snapping a lazy salute one behalf of the French government who were picking up the tab, before taking a long drag from the bottle. Examining the label belatedly as he walked over to the window. He pushed back the heavy curtain with a grunt and examined the city view. Existing in a place somewhere beyond tired as he tried to think of ways to wind himself down enough that he could sleep.

He looked down at his arm. Hesitating for a long moment before pulling a pen out of his bag and rolling up his sleeve. Feeling a bit stupid when he realized that it was usually her that started these type of conversations. He was going to have to work on that. Something which, considering the subject at hand, didn't exactly have him starting out on the right foot.

_"Hey, you there?"_

He watched the words fade. Setting up his computer and blowing through a couple of emails that couldn't wait. Sending his T.A the rest of the lesson plans he'd drawn up so they had something to work with for the lectures he was missing before formulating some sort of answer that actually made sense to the Dean. Agent Nice Suit had already given his bosses the "I am not at liberty to say where Doctor Morgan is at this given time, however in the spirit of international cooperation, his expertise is needed by the French government for the foreseeable future, blah blah blah." So, it was mostly a matter of smoothing ruffled feathers and tying up loose ends. Of course, it didn't make it any less annoying.

 _"Hey, yeah- sorry. I wasn't alone. Work stuff_ ," she finally answered. Black ink spreading across the pale of his arm. Spotty like her pen was shitty or maybe just running out of ink as it got tacky on the end curve of the last three words.

 _"I hear that,"_ he answered, knees knocking against the underside of the tiny desk when he tried to shift in place. _"Me too actually."_

He hesitated again, attention divided when a feminine laugh drifted through the thin walls. Too muffled to tell if it was Jamie or Chloe. He didn't want to be that guy ever again. The alarmist. The one that said something too soon. But by this point, it seemed like the trend of strange animal behavior was only spreading.

_She deserved to know._

_She needed to know._

_He needed to make sure she was safe or-_

_"Listen,"_ he started, pausing for a half-second as the ink disappeared. Trying to rearrange his thoughts into something that was a bit less than a tangle. _"Things are crazy right now. If I'm not fast replying don't worry. But there's something going on. I can't say anything until I know for sure- or if this stupid thing will even let me. But keep an eye on the news."_

Her reply was faster than he expected.

" _I know what you mean, the news has been pretty bad lately. There's something going on out there. Be careful, whatever it is you're doing."_

 _"You too,"_ he answered, having the sneaking suspicion that if he asked anything more his wrist would stay blank.


	7. Chapter 7

He was unpacking his bag in their hotel room in Rio when he caught a flash of ink skimming across his arm. He let go of a stuttered breath. Not realizing how tense he'd been until the sight of it eased something deep in his chest. Something he appreciated just as much as he didn't want to examine too closely. Not yet, anyway. Not now. And certainly not here when they had a job to do.

_"I can't sleep."_

He looked around the room cautiously, making sure Abraham was still hogging the shower before he grabbed his pen. Idly wondering how Jackson and Jamie were coming with Leo Butler and Agent Nosy Whassit-face as the absence of stimuli outside the shower and the sound of bats squeaking made it seem like the rest of the world was muffled somehow. Cloistered and close in a way he disliked on default.

He wrinkled his nose. It was the distance, more than anything, that got to him. The sense that he was too far away. Strained. Maybe from her. He didn't know. But it wasn't consistent. He hadn't felt like that in Mississippi or France. It didn't make any sense.

 _"Still on the work thing?"_ he scribbled, surprisingly sympathetic as Abraham started humming along to the radio. Some trendy Spanish song he decided he hated immediately.

_"Yeah, you?"_

_"Yep."_

His eyes flicked over to the bathroom door when the shower squeaked off. Realizing he might have to start thinking about taking this to the deck if he wanted to keep things private. Not fancying getting into the whole: 'my soulmate and I can talk to each other through our skin' conversation. Especially since he was pretty sure the guy was still pissed at him for the whole bat facts slideshow on the plane.

 _"I think I might be too tired to sleep,"_ she admitted. _"Or too excited. It's hard to tell. We're making progress, though. I just wish I was sleeping in my own bed rather than this shitty hotel. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in over a week."_

He snorted. Feeling that on a level she'd probably be surprised to learn as he looked around at the mid-ranged decor.

 _"There's actually a reason for that,"_ he answered, finding solace in the familiar as he recalled an article he'd read from Browns university before all this started. _"It's called First-Night-Effect. Your brain stays half-awake when you're sleeping in a new place. You never get a good night of sleep somewhere unfamiliar. That's why you wake up feeling like crap whenever you go camping or spend the night at a friend's. Your brain is in survival mode. You only turn off part of your brain, the other stays awake. It's a throwback from when we weren't the only bullies on the school yard, evolutionary speaking anyway."  
_  
The sink _psssshhhhed_ on in the bathroom. A precursor that he took seriously as he set up his laptop and more or less hid behind it. Listening to the little fan whirl busily as her reply spread across his arm in a fit of sleepy warmth.

_"Huh. Well, that makes a whole lot of sense honestly. Has it been the same for you? You're still away from home to right?"_

_"Yeah, this time with a roommate. Government budgets,"_ he explained, nodding stiffly when Abe emerged from the bathroom in a thin cloud of steam. Crossing the room to lay claim to the other bed as both their phones dinged loudly with a text message.

 _"Spoiled,"_ she teased. Light and almost amorous as he glanced at the text from Chloe.

 _"But worth it,"_ he hit back, feeling a small smile make tracks across his face as his head ducked down fractionally. Almost able to sense the exact moment she started to drift off as the pull between them hummed down into a familiar pitter-patter rhythm.

The next time he looked up, he found Abraham staring at him like he'd grown another head.

_What, a man can't smile now or something?_

_Geeze._

* * *

" _Hey- I'm sorry, I know you're busy but I need you. I did something today. Something awful. And I can't stop thinking about it. What I could have done. What I should have. I don't even know if-"_

He was on a plane back to the States when a wash of anxiety - jumpy and possible, like being sick before the churning in your gut could be classified as a hangover - raced down his spine. It wasn't his. He knew that right away, without even having to look at his arm. It was her. Something was wrong.

_"I'm here. What happened? You alright?"_

He'd barely slid the lock on the tiny bathroom closed before she replied. Shaky and almost illegible. Infusing the air around his head with sea-salt tears and the blunt edge of nausea-laden horror as the plane rattle through a burst of turbulence. He glared at the fasten seat belt sign. Daring it to come on and make his day that much worse as the plastic interior rattled and popped.

 _"No,"_ she answered, honest and blunt as that damn vice cranked up another notch in his chest. Feeling another surge of whatever she was feeling roll through him as he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet with a bit more force than necessary.  
_  
"Look, as much as I hate how patronizing this sounds- just do it, okay? Take a deep breath. Focus. Put it away and just breathe for a second. Because you're making ME dizzy and it's pretty safe to say that since I'm a couple thousand miles above ground right now there is no way that is going to end well."_

It was a bad attempt at humor.

_Diffusion._

It reminded him of all the ways he wasn't good at this.

At people and the problems that kept them up at night.

The things that made them hurt.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Catching an off center flash of shaking fingers curled tight around empty air, a mess of small shoulders and hanging brown hair. Not sure if he was seeing something that was or that should have been as he blinked and the double vision vanished.

His hand curled into a fist around the pen. Not quite knowing what to do with himself when he realized it was burning him right down to a place he'd never known existed until he could practically taste her tears and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

_Out of everyone you'd think he'd at least be able to help her._

It wasn't right.

It wasn't-

Jamie had taught him that.

That there were some things worth getting hurt for.

Some things that you _should_ get hurt for.

 _"Take it one step at a time,"_ he followed up, leaning against the tiny sink as he tried to concentrate on keeping the words legible. _"Focus on what you can do, right here, right now. Everything else can wait. Are you hurt? Is there someone there with you? Someone you can trust?"_

The squeak of the refreshment cart issued from outside the thin folding door. Giving him a frame of reference for how long he'd been there. They hadn't managed to get seats together this time so that meant Chloe and Abraham hadn't seen him get up. Which meant no awkward questions.  
_  
"No, I'll be sore, but I'm okay. Yes, someone from my work is with me. They're saying that- God damn it! It keeps cutting me off. How can I do this unless I can tell you-"_

 _"I don't need to know the details,"_ he assured, knowing instinctively she wasn't at fault. Her sense of guilt was too strong for anything else. Even if it had been something done in self defense, good old fashioned human morality usually pushed up to the plate exactly when you didn't need it.

He supposed that was the price you paid for being a good person.

Seemed like a pretty shitty reward, honestly.

 _"I'm here either way. And I'm not going anywhere_ ," he told her, meaning it on every level that mattered and probably a few that only meant something to him alone as the frantic, foreign heartbeat echoing inside him gradually began to quiet.

* * *

Less than forty-eight hours after he'd managed to calm her down, he got bitch-slapped by a bear in France. Leaving him wondering what had happened to his quiet, boring and largely predictable life. Privately ruminating on the way he wasn't freaking out as much as he figured he should be, but getting distracted by Jamie checking up on him and making noise about his scratch before he could make any real progress on it.

She had a way of doing that to him lately.

Making him say something stupid.

Something soft.

Something that would make her smile in that way she had.

She sat next to him on the plane back home. Eventually falling asleep with her right side pressed firm against his shoulder. Breathing slow and deep and making soft sounds against his jacket as all the angry noise in his head eased off into muted scorch-marks of static. Soaking it in without looking at her, but somehow still managing to catch the blanket before it slipped off her lap. Easing it back up so that it draped over her shoulder as her fingers clenched and unclenched around the edges. Leaning a bit more into the press of him – deliberate, warm and easy - before sleep took her back.

He wasn't sure why.

But he liked it.

_A lot._

_"I wanted to tell you what I did today, because honestly it was pretty crazy. But then I realized that not only would you never believe me, but considering the rate the ink disappeared when I tried to cheat it, I can't even tell you anyway,"_ he opened, feeling brave in the backseat of the van that'd picked them up from the airport. Fighting the unfamiliar urge to just flat out tell someone – _anyone_. To roll down the window and tell everyone how completely fucked they all were unless they could pull and miracle out of their asses and-

 _"Rough day?"_ she questioned, handwriting jittery like she was moving.

" _More like a rough month, really. Months, actually. A year, years or maybe an entire decade. Give or take,"_ he admitted, stuffing the pen back into his pocket when they pulled up to the hotel. Scrolling through his phone as Chloe checked them in at the front desk. Only half listening to Jamie, Jackson and Abe talking about something they'd seen on the news.

" _I know how you feel,"_ she replied, only slightly hysterical in the back of his head not long after he'd tossed his bag on the bed and used the bathroom. Exulting in the privacy of his own space again as bits and pieces of their conversation a couple days before rose up from the little box in the back of his mind where he kept her safe.  
_  
__"Things okay on your end?"_ he asked, grabbing his shaving kit as he eyed his reflection in the mirror. Doubtful he could pull off a third day without someone taking a dig at him just because he was too lazy to potentially nick himself with a cheap traveling razor.

" _Yeah, well. I mean, I haven't been arrested or anything,"_ she returned, catching sight of her reply in the mirror as he dicked around with a face cloth and shaving cream – killing time.

He laughed out loud, surprising himself.

" _Way to reach for the stars there,"_ he commented, acerbic but gentle as he chuckled into the eves of the hotel bathroom. Temporarily forgetting that the world wasn't going to hell around them.


	8. Chapter 8

The mother cell was heavy in his bag.

Heavy like the consequences to a crime that hadn't even happened yet.

_Heavy like guilt._

But he wasn't talking himself out of it.

He wasn't even second guessing it.

No, he'd already made his decision.

How could he do anything else when it was his daughter's life?

There was no other answer there.

The others weren't going to see it that way, he knew that.

Not with what they were up against.

If there was another way, he would have cooked it up already.

But for right now, honestly, he didn't care.

_This was for Clem._

* * *

The night before his meeting with Clayton Burke he didn't sleep.

_He couldn't._

Instead, he thought about Jamie.

He thought about the cemetery and the way Jamie had tried, but ultimately failed, to hide her tears. In hindsight, telling him exactly why he couldn't just leave her at that depressing Christmas bar in a town that'd never moved on from the people it'd lost, long before they'd even met with the senator.

He thought about her going after Reiden Global like it would bring her mother back. He thought about days turning into months and months turning into years with her still fighting the same god damned fight.

Then he thought about her doing it alone. About losing her job over it. About how it she'd pushed through every road block, every impossible lead, every bit of rule breaking - _law breaking_. All for the greater good and a bit of well-earned revenge. It reminded him of when they'd gotten Clem's diagnosis and how he'd scared Audra into pulling away even further when he started beating on the doors of every hospital, every company, every out-patient trial and new age clinic where there was even the smallest chance they had something that could help her.

He thought about the mother cell as the key to that last locked door.

The one he'd never been able to get through.

Only now he had it.

_The golden ticket._

Whatever treatment Clem needed, he could get it for her.

They would pay anything to get the mother cell back.

He looked up at the ceiling, one hand drifting back and forth like needed comfort across the inside of his arm. Wondering off-hand and with a rising acid-laden aftertaste, if Jamie and the others would ever forgive him for it.

* * *

The betrayal was sour in his mouth when he walked into the lobby of the building.

Committed beyond a shadow of a doubt despite the feelings churning in his gut like sick-up.

After all, there were some things out there that were worth the cost.

Jamie had taught him that.

* * *

"Oh, my God, you bastard."

"It was for my daughter."

"Even so."

"If you could've saved your mother, you wouldn't have done the same?"

"So you did it? You traded the Mother Cell for the medicine."

"No. I didn't."

"But you almost did."

"Yeah, I almost did. _For my daughter_."

* * *

He hadn't been counting on the look in Jamie's eye haunting him as much as it did. But in the end, he figured he deserved it. The wound was still too new for her to be able to step back and say she understood. To stand there and agree with him. That if it'd been her mother she would have done the exact same thing.

The logic behind it didn't make him feel any better though.

Unsurprisingly he probably- no, _definitely_ deserved that too.

* * *

" _You know what's funny? I've just spent almost half hour trying to figure out what to say to you. But I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. I guess I just wanted to talk to you or something. It's been a while,"_ she opened sheepishly after nearly half a week of radio silence from both of them.

He blinked, bleary eyed as he fumbled for his glasses. Shoving them up his nose as he squinted in the low light. Swaying from side to side in the van as they drove overnight to Jackson and Abraham's guy in Clearwater.

" _I might be bias but that seems like a good enough reason to me,"_ he returned, struggling a bit with the pen in the dark. Hyper aware of the others sleeping in the seats in front of him. Or at least some of them were. The light from Jamie's tablet still seemed to be shining from the passenger seat. Keeping Chloe company as they took turns driving. _"What's up?"_

" _I guess I just need someone to talk to. This work stuff, it's gotten more…complicated."_

" _Tell me about it,"_ he returned, looking out the window as the flash of street lights whizzed by – blinking and orange like an epilepsy warning. He closed his eyes. Easing the ache behind them. He hadn't had a good nights sleep in days – _weeks_.

" _You too?"_ she pressed, lingering on it and all the words this whole messed up thing between them wasn't going to let them say. Momentarily giving him whiplash when she abruptly changed tracks with barely a pause between sentences. _"You feel tired."_

It wasn't accusing. More like an observation presented with blunt teeth and a soft smile. And it was proof enough that he _was_ considering he couldn't even muster up the energy to bristle. It was hard to argue with someone who could literally sense the truth. Not for lack of trying on his end, mind you. Just not this time.

God, he was wiped.

" _Like I said, things have been busy,"_ he wrote back, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the window. Frowning at the way the light cut lines down the contours of his face.

" _We should get matching jackets and compare notes,"_ she teased, giving him the strange parallel image of remarkably similar street lights passing by through the flat of a windshield as he smiled into the dark. Feeling no great need to add anything else as he let his amusement spread. Knowing she would be able to feel it, wherever she was.

It was oddly comforting.

Sometime later the light from Jamie's tablet switched off. Accompanying the soft sounds of a quiet conversation between Chloe gently pulled off to the side of the road and traded places with her.

The last thing he registered before sleep took him was meeting Jamie's eyes in the rear view mirror. Watching her watch him as darkness spread shadows of quiet possibility between them.

* * *

Getting to Zambia proved to be just about as hard and annoying as he'd figured it'd be. The only saving grace was that Ray was piloting and therefore out of sight and not talking. And, perhaps more importantly, Jamie had planted herself beside him for the majority of the flight. Working on her laptop and talking quietly as Jackson and Abraham tried to not so subtly pry more information out of their host.

* * *

It was still nice though, in a weird sort of way.

To know he'd mostly been forgiven.

He wasn't sure when that'd happened, exactly. But he did know he'd meant every word of what he'd said to her in that basement before they'd broken into the Clearwater Zoo.

He had faith in her.

No matter what happened, he probably always would.

And that was disconcerting.

For a lot of reasons, honestly.

* * *

He called bullshit when he tried and failed to write something to her about hating camping after Ray had gotten the tent up and he and Jamie were set up inside. Not entirely sure how they'd managed to score the first shift sleeping as he looked down at his arm. Completely and utterly incensed when the ink disappeared almost as fast as he'd scribbled the words "tent" and "camping."

_How in god's name was talking about something as generic as camping cheating?!_

_Why couldn't the world cut him some god damned slack already?!_

Something about the entire situation screamed on the edge of his awareness.

Like there was something he wasn't seeing.

Something obvious.

Something that that was right in front of his face and probably doing god damned figure eights as far as he could tell.

But, as it turned out, he didn't really have time to think much about it considering a couple hours later Ray was dead, they were surrounded by leopards and he had Jamie pressed tightly behind him. Covering her with the crooked line of his back as all four of them tried really hard not to die.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh, my God."

"Don't move."

"Do we run?"

"No. If we do, they'll take us down."

"Tranq them!"

"Secure!"

"Unit two secure!"

"Extract!"

"Lock it down."

"Secure this perimeter!"

* * *

Her hand was still tight in his after the _pop-pop-thwack_ of the marines bursting through the windows of the hospital. Their warm, gloved hands pressed affirmingly - protectively - against the curve of his shoulder as he pulled Jamie up with him. Keeping her close as they were hustled out of the building and into the relatively safety of the parking lot. High on adrenaline and yet another close call as the soft smell of her shampoo clung to his clothes and skin. Breathing her in every other inhale as the weight of her brushed like a question - hesitant and fledgling-new - against his side.

When he had time to think about it later - when her lips were warm and chapped against his and he was swallowing down the taste of that cheap airplane vodka for a chance to have her straight - it was the fact that she'd crossed that barrier first, both times, that really stuck with him.

* * *

They pulled away grudgingly. Lips connected for a staggered beat by a gentle strand of moisture. By skin that wasn't ready to part. By the brush of hips against hips and the awkward nudge of his nose into the curve of her cheek. His hand was still drifting down, skating across the pale of her throat before he forced himself to put some distance between them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We've been informed that due to some unusual migratory behavior, this airspace has been closed. We've been diverted to-"

He looked up, squinting down towards the galley in annoyance as the intercom blared. Feeling the graze of her hair under his chin as she did the same.

"What migratory behavior?"

That was all he had time to say before the world flipped on its axis and tore her away from him.

* * *

"Jamie!"

He tried to yell but there was no air. It was getting sucked out of the plane in a whirling spin of flying debris and panicking people. His mouth was making sounds, but not the right ones as pain flashed off-center - some of it present, some of it distant. Out of time with his heartbeat but in tune with another as a frisson of sensation pin-pricked like gooseflesh across the inner of his arm.

"Jamie!"

His ears were ringing, head throbbing from where he'd hit the ceiling. Slamming back against the floor and flipping backwards before tumbling down the aisle as the plane started falling. Nose diving into the Atlantic as a familiar scream ripped past him - then nothing.

He clawed at empty air. Glasses gone. Trying to find a handhold. Trying to find her. Chest compressing - _burning_ – when the drink cart hit him. Tearing him away from the hole in the fuselage with a hiccup of gravity and horrible noise that sounded like how tearing out your teeth with a pair of plyers probably felt.

The plane was trying to level out.

He could feel the difference in pressure.

There was someone still alive in the cockpit. Still trying.

Something hit him - bouncing him back into the center aisle and rolling him backwards. Feeling a bone in his hand snap as it got caught in the lip where the seats beside the center aisle were bolted to the floor. He couldn't get purchase. He tried to grab at things, seats, falling luggage, even people. Feeling the force of the atmosphere sucking him back towards the hole in the plane.

If he couldn't grab something he was going to-

He caught a flash of dark- an open mouth and eyes going wide with recognition before his ankle was suddenly caught in an iron grip. The sudden stop giving him whiplash as a suitcase snapped his neck to the side. Feeling part of him come off with it as the hard exterior of another hit the back of his head with a deafening sound he couldn't actually hear anymore. Turning back to look when he started getting dragged back into the cover of the seats. Blinking through a haze of dripping red as a face blurred in and out of focus.

_Abraham._

He keeled to the right, trying to get closer on his own. Recognizing Jackson's pant legs as the man leaned over the seat in front of him. Trying to fasten an unconscious woman's oxygen mask as her head lulled unpleasantly. Leaking and broken.

Abraham's hands were grabby and far too tight against his screaming skin when he got close enough for the man to lean down and drag him the rest of the way. Enough that he tried and failed to squirm free. He was an animal trying to escape stimulus. Bleeding pain and discomfort to the point where he couldn't remember why pulling away would be the worst idea. He was too gone for that. Ignoring the pitch of the words in his ears as he looked blindly for Jamie. Losing touch with sound as Abe's arm tightened around his chest, pulling him firmly into the crux of him as the high pitched scream of ringing frequencies started spinning his vision into black.

Part of him wanted to hate him on principal - even as gratitude piped electric.

Hate him for saving him and not Jamie.

Hate him for-

* * *

The next thing he was aware of was looking up at an expensive, private hospital ceiling.

Chloe was sitting quietly in a chair that had been pulled up beside his bed. Tapping away at her tablet with an angry frown. Looking like a mix between a fashion model and a domestic abuse survivor as her concealer gave it the old college-try when it came to hiding the bruises of whatever she'd been through in the meantime.

"What happened?" he managed hoarsely. Making her jump and nearly drop her coffee as she kicked herself out of her chair and let loose a relieved stream of French he could barely make head out tails of.

It was a stupid question.

He knew what'd happened.

But for some reason his mouth made the sounds anyway.

"-but the pilot managed to land...more or less on the water. Jackson and Abe were able to get you into one of the inflatable rafts before the plane sank. You had a concussion, three broken ribs, broken index finger and some cuts that needed stitches. You were the worst off of the others when we found you. Abe was concerned you might have internal bleeding. He said you got hit pretty hard."

He caught up with her in mid-sentence, head aching and mouth parched as he reached out with shaking fingers for the cup of ice water waiting on his tray-table. Straining a bit until Chloe reached forward and ignored his hands completely. Holding the water for him and directing the straw like he was incapable of doing it himself.

In the end, he was too tired to argue and just let her.

He wasn't sure his grip would have held anyway.

"You woke up in the ICU when they moved you to an in-patient bed. You were in shock. You tried to grab the surgeon's pen. You were...I don't know- what is the word? Yelling? Inconsolable? You were not making sense. You tried to stop them when you recognized the sedative. You said you had to talk to someone, here-" Chloe told him, pointing at the inner of her arm.

Somewhere in the depths of the hospital a doctor was being paged. Making after-images of his residency rise up like something thick and uncomplimentary in the back of his throat. His supervisor had muttered about it once. How you could always tell the difference between the new faces and the seasoned ones. The new faces ran when their names were paged to the ER. The jaded ones just power-walked. He'd never quite fit either. He figured that getting out of human medicine had probably been the best call he could've made, for everyone's sakes.

People deserved a doctor that _always_ ran.

He ignored the questions in the back of her eyes in favor of squinting through the open door and into the hall. Remembering all of a sudden that his glasses were gone as the rest of what happened came roaring back - vivid and without mercy.

"Jamie?" he asked, voice ragged and almost unrecognizable as Chloe hurried with the water, making soft noises in the back of her throat until he finally took the straw and struggled through a handful of ragged pulls.

Chloe's face turned complicated when it was over. Hidden. And the truth was, he wasn't that bad off not to understand the story her face was telling. She might have the others fooled, but not him. He knew those angles. He knew what they said and more importantly- what they didn't. He understood that closed off pragmatism better than anyone.

But not now.

Not with Jamie.

Never with Jamie.

Not-

"Nothing yet," she replied carefully. Setting the cup back on his tray-table gently before leaning in like it was an action he could draw comfort from, rather than irritation. "But that means nothing. It is early. Mitch, the Canadian Government has every available resource out there looking for survivors. For Jamie and the cub."

Something splintered under the ivory of his chest.

But it wasn't _his_ ribs.

It wasn't-

He tried to nod. To stop the twitching muscles around his lips to keep that part of him hidden – _safe_. But in the end, all he ended up doing was turning his head a half-degree to the side and keeping it there.


	10. Chapter 10

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up again. This time to Jackson asleep on the chair next to his bed with two black eyes like sinking ship bruises and his arm in a sling. There was no effort to conceal the damage there. No pretty lies. Just truth. It didn't make him feel any better, but it was honest.

He eased himself out of bed slowly, ignoring the little button they wanted you to press as he firmed his hand around his IV stand and levered himself up. Bare feet curled and bruised as they tested taking his weight one effort at a time. He waited until he was sure they weren't going to buckle before he started moving. Painfully careful not to wake up his audience as he grabbed the pen resting uncapped on a pile of Jackson's notes and used the wall to support him towards the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him. Ugly hospital gown fluttering discomfortingly just above his knees. Ribs a mess of aching warmth, the sharpness muffled by painkillers and god knows what else. But it wasn't until sweat started stringing from his hair that he realized it was exhaustion trembling weakness through him. Feeling worse than he should've as he fell, more than sat, on the closed lid of the toilet seat.

Something wasn't right.

He could feel it.

Something-

He felt disconnected.

Like part of him was broken – missing - or maybe ripped away completely.

_Jamie._

But that didn't make any sense either.

_Jamie wasn't his- she wasn't-_

His chin tipped up when something rose out of the jumble and finally made sense. Looking down at his inner arm, sliced up with thin ruby-clean cuts and blossoming bruises. He remembered feeling something, the moment Jamie had-

He struggled with the pen, trying to work around the half-cast some idiot had put on his finger. Feeling like if he could just talk to her, everything would be okay. Everything would make sense again. He didn't know why. He didn't know anything. Just this. Just that he had to-

" _Hey, you there?"_

His fingers ached, grip made awkward when his fingers refused to bend. Like anything he hadn't broken, he'd sprained. His tongue peeked out to trace his lower lip - swearing he could still taste her there - as the realization that he was confusing the two - Jamie and _her_ – set every inch of him on edge.

" _Where are you?"_

He sat there for a long time. Waiting. Long enough that Jackson woke up and started banging on the door. Worried. Threatening nurses and their big, no-nonsense needles if he didn't open the door. It made him remember why he'd told Jamie at the beginning of all this that he liked people best when they weren't around.

" _Why aren't you answering?!"_

He stared at his arm for hours after Jackson eventually dragged him back to bed. Talking quietly with the doctor and nurses that came and went in hushed tones. Exchanging words like: "shock," "Jamie," "loss," and "rest," they didn't think he could hear.

He didn't know it was possible to feel more alone.

* * *

The next time he tried was in the corner booth of a shitty bar that smelled like wood dust and unwashed dog. Half full of nervous people spending too much money giving the front stools an imprint of their ass. Sucking back liquid courage to face what might be waiting outside or just wanting to forget for a little while as the thin, dumpy looking bartender did his best to keep up. Sniping at anyone that even so much as _looked_ at the ugly, geriatric, arthritic-riddled pile of a pug that reigned from it's bed at the end of the counter.

The place was just awful enough to become habit forming.

Probably.

This time he didn't write anything. Just a bunch of exclamation points and squiggly lines that turned his skin red from being too forceful. Part of him wanting it to hurt as the minutes passed by and nothing happened. Leaving him alone in the glass-clinking quiet. Screaming silently into the void as Jamie's ghost slid onto the faded cushions across from him and smiled that same beatific smile of hers like she had reasons to spare.

"Bit pathetic, don't you think, Mitch?" she told him, tilting her head in his mind's eye like she was daring him to disagree. His own sub-conscious talking smack about itself with her face and her eyes and-

"Cheers," he snapped back, raising his glass for a refill as the word came out like a curse.

* * *

The day the Canadian government called off the dive teams was the same day he cancelled all his meetings and didn't leave the house. Possibly for a week. It was kind of a blur. He spent his time completely stripping his apartment of anything that even vaguely reminded him of the last few months and tossing it. It was dangerously close to purging, but he didn't care. He renegotiated with his suspiciously newly demure landlady, sold his apartment and got a better one – city facing – on the upper floor. He got new furniture delivered that he'd never actually sat on and ignored his phone that kept ringing throughout.

_Chloe._

_Jackson._

_Abraham._

_Amelia Sage._

_Private Caller._

_Chloe._

_The L.A Zoo._

_The University._

_Chloe._

_Private Caller._

_The Hospital._

_Amelia Sage._

_Private Caller._

_The Media._

_Chloe._

The only call he picked up that week was from Jamie's Uncle. And he was half convinced that was only because the man had actually texted him and he'd been forced to read the whole thing because the alert wouldn't go the fuck away. Jamie had apparently written him down as her emergency contact without telling him and told her Uncle somewhere along the line that he preferred to text rather than talk on the phone. And because of that, he had to tell a nice man with a shaking voice – who'd already lost a sister – that his niece was dead.

There hadn't been enough liquor in the house to save him from the aftershocks of that conversation.

* * *

He watched the final news broadcast with clenched fingers and whiskey on his breath.

Drunk enough that he swallowed hard and fumbled with a pen.

Forgetting that he didn't ask for these things.

Forgetting that he didn't need people.

Not like this.

But asking anyway.

 _"I need you,"_ he wrote simply, hating himself for the hope he still had. The cruel kind that crushed the life out of you slowly instead of all at once.

No one replied.

* * *

It was horrifically fitting, in retrospect.

The one time he let himself need someone back they were nowhere to be found.

That probably meant something.

Something ugly or maybe just profound.

But nothing good, at any rate.

After all, how could it not?

* * *

He spent a long time dealing with it.

He'd been standing right next to her, brushing shoulders, still touching.

So how was he here and she wasn't?

How was that fair?

How was that right?

_It wasn't._

Worse, it was an injustice that meant absolutely dick in the long run. It was chance, pure dumb luck and nothing more. And all he was doing with his survivor's guilt was padding the pocket of the same bartender night after night when he probably should have been hashing it out with some overpaid professional feel-good. Unloading it on some therapist that would take the razor edge of his words and call it progress – least until he disgusted himself into never coming back.

* * *

How did you teach yourself to willingly let go of something that wasn't meant for you?

That'd probably _never_ been meant for you?

The same things he had no right drinking himself numb over, probably.

The answer wasn't at the bottom of his glass, but that didn't stop him from trying.

* * *

He was back at the bar, privately competing with the other patrons for the ultimate self-loathing champion of the evening when a couple walked in - hand in hand. They took the booth next to his in the back and ordered beers before the guy disappeared off in the direction of the bathroom.

It wasn't until he looked up from his drink that he realized she was looking at him.

It was a quiet, full out stare. Too polite and thoughtful to be obnoxious, but pretty close up there considering he came here to drink and be pathetic. Not necessarily have an audience while he did it.

"What?" he demanded bluntly, voice hoarse with drink or maybe just disuse as she jerked in surprise. Caught off guard as he forced her to own it. Blushing red as her bottle-red hair skimmed over her face like a curtain.

"I'm sorry," she replied quickly. Cheeks staining angry-pink despite holding his gaze firmly.

_Brave little thing._

It reminded him of things he was trying to forget, so he shook the thought away again.

"No you aren't," he rasped, taking a long drink from his glass. Longer and deeper than he should have as the potent liquor burned all the way down. He forced himself to swallow the building threat of a cough, simmering quietly in a brine of forced resentment he'd mostly been trying to avoid. Hating her for pulling it up to the surface again as he slammed his glass down on the table a bit harder than necessary.

" _I am_ , I know what you did," she shot back. A mess of deep dimples and too young to be out at this time of night freckles.

"And what does _that_ do for anyone?" he bit off, dully surprised at lack of venom behind the words, considering that privately he was seething. He just sounded done – tired. "The people that deserve those words are dead."

She shook her head, long earrings tinkling metallically as they flung this way and that.

"That's where you're wrong."

It startled him so much he nearly dropped his drink.

No one had flat out told him he was wrong since-

"You can be wounded but still standing, you know?" the woman returned, this time with something far softer in her voice – stronger than pity and far more genuine. "They aren't mutually exclusive. Don't let the world tell you otherwise, because they're _wrong_."

* * *

It wasn't until they'd left and he was up at the counter, struggling to pull out his credit card with alcohol-numb fingers that he found out she'd paid off his entire tab.

It only made him that much more angry.

* * *

A month after the accident, he went back to work.

He still didn't answer his phone.

And slowly, the others stopped calling.

He tried and failed to convince himself that he liked it that way.


	11. Chapter 11

"Mitch? Mitch, can you hear me? It's me. It's Jamie."

"No, it isn't."

"Jamie's dead."

"Who? Who is this? You-you don't even sound like her."

"Okay, are you gonna stop being an ass for a second and listen to me? It is me. I am alive, and- and I'm really glad you are too."

"It really is you."

"It's really good to hear your voice."

"It's really good to hear yours too."

* * *

He was so high on it, on finding out Jamie was alive – on actually speaking to her and nearly deafening Chloe when she picked up the phone afterwards - that he nearly missed the tell-tale tingling that rippled across his inner arm.

" _Hello?"_

He almost fell over. Ripping up his sleeve to bare the words that were spreading, just like they had a hundred times before. Familiar and crushing all at the same time as a swelling wave of- _something_ threatened to come crashing down on him.

What-

How-

_"I know you've probably been trying to reach me. Sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I probably don't want to know what you thought happened. I promise it wasn't on purpose. I would never have left it that way. But I was- hurt. Then I got sick, an infection. I was in and out and the guy that saved me- he didn't speak English. I just got well enough to start getting out of bed and he brought me a satellite phone and I called him. The guy I was working with? The one I-"_

She broke off and he finally remembered how to breathe. Shuddering as his phone started vibrating across the table. Chloe again. She was sending him the address to meet them downtown. Just like she said she would before they'd hung up. Everything about him felt slack – shock loose and unpleasantly electric as his go-bag quietly slipped off the chair beside him. But he barely registered the sound. Instead, the little hairs on the back of his neck were prickling as a rush of awareness – new and untested – threatened to change everything.

Because that was the thing, wasn't it?

How long until a coincidence wasn't a coincidence anymore?

How long until all those dangerous little thoughts get too loud to ignore?

" _You know everything that's been happening on the news? We can fix it. The guy I called, he can fix it. He's coming to get me and we are going to stop all of this."_

He wobbled in place, unsteady and breakable. Because this whole thing was starting to intermingle with a whole bunch of other thoughts. Ones that had been digesting privately – cautiously – simmering silent in the wings because they were _that_ kind of crazy and the truth was he didn't do _this_ anymore. He didn't let his theories out until they were fully baked. He'd been burned for it in the past and once was more than enough – thank you _very_ fucking much.

But this was different.

It was her and that meant the stakes were that much higher.

He'd been barely coping before all this.

Not even really coping, honestly.

More like just existing.

He didn't know if he could handle it if he was wrong, if-

" _I know you're probably pissed at me, I don't blame you. But I'm okay. And everything is going to be fine now. We've got this. I'll find you someday- somehow. But for now, he's where I need to be. Where I want to be… I called him first. I didn't even think about it. That has to mean something. Doesn't it? It does. I know it now. I'm sorry, but-"_

Oh god.

His breathing was ragged, devolving and piece-meal as he clutched at the searing warmth spreading across his skin. It was so similar to the first time that he almost choked on the memory. Blinking back the sting of his own tears. Overwhelmed as the unsteady truth hummed through him.

_It couldn't be-_

_Could it?_

Only thing was, part of him knew.

Part of him had known it for a while now.

Because the words on his skin and the one's he'd heard on the phone today were the same.

There was no difference.

He'd found her.

_He'd finally found her._

Nothing else made sense.

* * *

He collapsed more than sat in the first cab he was able to flag down outside the bar. One hand cradling firm around the span of skin that'd held the words. Anchoring himself to that – _to her_ \- while everything else spun out. Finally connecting the dots that stretched all the way back. Back before they'd even-

She'd called him first.

_Jamie._

The realization felt a whole lot like he'd gotten tossed around in an out of control plane all over again. Enough that the taxi driver kept glancing at him in the rear-view mirror like he wanted to say something. He didn't know if it was the expression on his face or the set of his silence as he slammed the lid on the box in his mind where he kept her and pocketed the key.

He didn't say it.

He couldn't believe it.

_Not yet._

If he did it would make it real.

_Possible._

Real enough that it could be taken away from him.

Real enough that he could lose it.

_Lose it all over again._

His tongue curled in his mouth, shell-shocked and a hair away from biting down when the cab screeched to a stop in front of a non-descript government building. Ignoring the relieved dart of eyes from the driver when his card paid for the fare and a barely passable tip. Looking happy to be rid of him as he stepped onto the curb and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

As for the rest of that thought and all it's baggage-

Well, he was kind of refusing to think about it to be honest.

* * *

It wasn't until they were on the boat that he let himself answer.

And when he did, it was only two words.

" _I'm coming."_

* * *

He was less surprised than he figured he should be when the words he wrote down stayed there without even so much as a hitch. Flowing across his arm just like they used to as he felt something significant settle low and warm in the center of his chest. Something that forced its way in. Budging in beside the resting the pessimism and anxiety and made itself a home there.

_Hold on, Jamie._

_Hold on._

* * *

"We can't leave her here, okay?"

"We can come back - and find Jamie!"

"No, no, no. I'm not- I'm not leaving! You don't understand! _She's mine_ \- she's- I'm not leaving!"

He must have looked fucking crazy. Sitting there on the ground, ripping off his jacket and sleeves. Anything and everything that might have gotten in the way as he fumbled with his pen. Dropping it once, twice, then _again_ as the animals started to close in. Ripping his gloves off with his teeth as Abraham and some faceless marine tried to hook him under the armpits and drag him away.

He lashed out- just as dangerous as the bear roaring in the trees. Buying himself some time as he pressed down so hard he drew blood. He barely felt the sting as it started to well up, getting muddled with the words as he scribbled feverishly. Pushing everything else back as Jackson yelled and the fleshy _pwack-pwack_ of a tranq-gun added another layer to the rapidly devolving situation.

" _Come back now. Helicopter. NOW."_

She was here.

_Close._

He could feel it.

His arm was burning with phantom words.

Like knowing she was his had opened the dam somehow.

"Mitch- we have to! We aren't going to last much longer! We'll come back! Just-"

His eyes flew to the clearing ridge.

She was afraid.

They were hunting her.

_They couldn't leave._

_Not now._

_Not when they were so close._

He bit off a mangled sound when Abraham wrenched him up right. Pen flying out of his hand and disappearing into the snowy grass as the rest of the world suddenly filtered back. Deafening him with the violent churn of whipping helicopter blades and the half-dozen marines trying to clear a path back to it.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm not leaving without you! We'll come back for her, Mitch- Chloe will-"

A rattling snarl issued close at their backs. Making Abraham shy away, loosening his hold just enough that he could flail free. Wrenching himself away only to land right in the path of two very determined looking marines that didn't look like they took the word "no" for an answer to anything.

"I'm not leaving! Get your hands off me! _Jamie!"_

* * *

It didn't end this way.

_It couldn't._

Not when he'd finally figured it all out.

Not when-

* * *

He'd been stuffed into the helicopter by force. Cursing and yelling and half drowned in a sea of military uniforms and Abraham's solid bulk. But somehow he still managed to see her when she tripped over the ridge on the opposite side of the clearing and started running. Making a bee-line for the helicopter as a blast of wind reverberated through the spinning blades. Kicking up dust and dead grass as the difference in temperature threatened to fog his glasses.

His arm _burned._

"Jamie!"

This time when he yelled, the world parted. Fracturing enough to spit her back up against as she scrambled through the long grass - limping. Long hair flying behind her like a banner as she looked over her shoulder, expression too far away to see as a large bison cleared the ridge seconds after her. Bearing down on her with a terrible sound. Billowing steam out of it's nostrils as the closest marine lit up his radio like the fourth of July.

"Target two sighted! GO! GO! GO!"

"Bring it down!"

His throat was thick. A suffocating mess of cresting fear and longing as he watched the only thing in his life that made sense run for it. Not able to do anything about it as he clutched his arm and hissed as the burning sensation flared into a heart-wrenching _sear_.

A pack of wolves poured over the side of the ridge. Spilling out across the grass as the group flanked her. Working together as the Buffalo continued its charge. Spear-heading the group as the bear – or maybe there was two of them – roared just behind the tree-line.

"Mitch! Don't-"

He squirmed out of the seat-belt and half-fell out of the cockpit. Ignoring the grabbing hands and angry faces as he pushed through the crowd marines. Standing there in the open as the tranq-guns spat darts all around her. Missing her by inches as the impact of the buffalo stumbling, then falling – thick hide peppered with darts - jarred through sinew and bone.

"Mitch!"

"Jamie!"

He was right there to catch her when she cleared the last rise and fell into him. Collapsing into his chest as he scooped her up and let the swarm of guns and people swallow them. Half-falling to his knees as the tug in his chest solidified into something wholesome and strong. Something that'd proved itself the world over and was now his – _theirs_ – to keep for their very own.

"Mitch!"

The impact was catharsis. Feeling her small hands clench and pull. Fisting themselves tightly in the open flare of his jacket and across his chest. Grabbing at everything she could reach until her fingers curled around the inner of his arm. Looking up at him through the tangle of her hair as her eyes glinted - welling up with happy, overwhelmed tears. Telling him everything he needed to know and more.

"You're here. You're really here… _You._ It's was you all along! How did you- I-"

"I'm always here," he muttered, holding her fiercely as they were dragged into the helicopter. Barely registering the hands that pulled them in – Abraham and Jackson ebbing and flowing around them like a tide – as he mouthed the rest into her hair. Feeling her shudder through the same as their arms – the same ones they'd used to talk to each other all this time – tingled pleasantly every time they nudged together. "I'll _always_ be here."

Both exalted and _crippled_ with it when he realized that for the first time in his entire life it was actually true.


	12. Chapter 12

He was in the living room, surrounded in income assessments, an actual pile of approved government grants, and - oddly enough - half a dozen brochures from various realtors around the city that Jamie must have stuffed in as a hint when he caught a flash of bold black script hushing across the inner of his arm.

" _Come to bed, professor,"_ she wheedled playfully. Making him picture completely unfair things – like her laying in bed waiting for him. Scantily clad and arching her back against the sheets with an inviting hitch of her throat. Pleasant thoughts that were quickly overtaken by ones of her doing something disgustingly domestic - like brushing her teeth at the sink and padding around in an old shirt and stupidly long socks. Which, he should add, still managed to get him there anyway. Usually very enthusiastically and with very little in the way of clothes.

His lip quirked upwards when she didn't stop there.

" _I think we've spent enough time apart, don't you?"_

It reminded him of how new this still was. Of what it'd felt like when he'd half carried her into the helicopter. Ignoring her huffing laughs and demands that he put her down despite her limp. Leaving the others trailing and confused as he strapped her into the seat next to him and tried to leave an imprint of himself on her skin. Still trying to convince himself this was real – that this was actually happening – until Jamie was suddenly out of her seat and crouched down in front of him. Mouthing his name as his ears rang and he got stuck trying to say everything at once. Only stuttering to a stop when she shook her head and moved like liquid. Capturing his face in her hands and sealing their lips together as the world sparked warm and bright and full and- half a dozen people were absolutely _yelling_ at them to get back into their seats. Almost drowned out by the whirl of the engines and the roar of more than a few angry bison, bears, wolves and whatever else had been lurking in that absolute _armpit_ of a forest.

* * *

At the time, he'd barely cared.

Because she was there.

Safe.

_His._

And that little space inside of him that'd always yawned empty?

It had settled like bed-warmed comfort in the center of his chest the same moment he'd gotten his hands on her.

* * *

The months passed quickly after that. So quickly that sometimes he looked at the calendar, the news, the filled in hunger-hollows of Jamie's face and is surprised that six months have passed. Six months since they found her and four long ones since they'd hammered down the cure and found a way to distribute it. Effectively ending Animal Armageddon - at least for now - as things slowly started simmering back towards the vaguest approximation of normal.

And things were good.

_Great even._

Good in a way he really didn't have a baseline for, honestly.

Embarking on a way of living that was a mix between taking it one day at a time and knowing deep down that you had forever standing next to you as Jamie squeezed his hand in hers during every military briefing. Every gala. Every award ceremony and media conference. Every quiet dinner out when it was just the two of them, a bottle of wine and all the reasons why this had been worth it sitting across from him at the table.

" _I can smell the gears turning in your head from here. What are you thinking about?"_

He smiled into the quiet, rubbing at the lingering words as he shut his laptop and shuffled a section of papers to the side so it at least looked like he'd tried to get something done.

She had a habit of doing that. Reminding him - usually right when he needed it - that there was nowhere on earth she'd rather be than right here, right now. He was still working on believing it, but for now he was resigned to be greedy. To keep her for as long as she'd have him as milestones and important dates rolled passed until suddenly - he was blinking into the bathroom mirror surrounded by soft smells, hair pins and probably half a hundred different things that were completely _her_. Realizing that if there had ever been a doubt this wouldn't work, it would have come up by now.

Instead, she was still here.

_Still his._

And not because of some damned soulmate thing either.

Or, or- maybe that was part of it.

He didn't know and honestly but he wasn't about to question it. Not anymore. He could never take her for granted. It wasn't in him to be that kind of selfish. But maybe he was ready to do the rest. To make it as official on the outside as it was on the inside. She'd like that. He knew she would. It was just him she was waiting on to get there.

" _Thought you knew better than to keep me waiting? Remember what happened last time?"_

He pushed the stack of papers aside, grinning at nothing in particular as he got to his feet. Feeling the warm thrum of her in the back of his mind. Knowing she could tell he was on the move as the bond between them tinged itself with pleasant colors and suggestive thoughts.

Their own private definition of normal.

* * *

He still didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky.

Or how the universe had seen fit to saddle someone like her with someone like him.

But hell if he was going to waste it.

* * *

" _I love you."_

" _You know you didn't have to say it, right? I can feel it."_

" _I know. But yeah- I kinda did. …For you."_

* * *

And yeah, when everything was said and done – in a weird, round about sort of way - he might actually get the whole soulmate thing.

Because the truth was, even though they'd done things the hard way, when it came to them, no easy love would have felt the same.

Taking the long shot all the way to the finish line was in _both_ their natures.

And maybe whatever this was – the big cosmic _whatever_ \- knew it.

Because despite everything the world had done to try and keep them apart, they'd still found each other.

God knows there was something fitting about that.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> Chrysalism: the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.


End file.
